In your brutal colour,
or the stale black and white,
you were the closest of brothers;
apart caused a fight.

Sound the echo too gently,
let your ache be unknown,
with a half heart you’re empty;
I was emptied alone.

It had glistened in morning,
at one with the peace.
I had cursed all my yawning,
and with pace I had breathed.

In the green of the grasses,
and the sign pointing east,
I had pictured the masses
made of love on your cheeks.
It arched through the bedroom,
and it danced through the trees,
until the sun landed on you
and your shoulder blades freed.
A trust placed in forest,
the ground none could heave,
eventual body
in a bed made of leaves,
and I found you in autumn,
it was skull and some bones;
your flesh left in boredom,
you spoke softer tones to me,

and we fled in the rain,
I was shaken and weak,
and if not for your stubborn veins
we’d have been loved once,
for each.